


Feel This

by unfolded73



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:50:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfolded73/pseuds/unfolded73
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1064860">"Fear This"</a> - The part-human Doctor is different, and Rose struggles with whether that's good or bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel This

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published August 19, 2009. Beta'd by fid_gin. As soon as I wrote ["Fear This"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1064860), with its slightly more alien version of Ten, I knew there had to be a Ten II sequel. But when started writing this, I realized that the Rose of this story was much angrier than any post-"Journey's End" versions of Rose that I've written have been. So this came out quite angsty, but I think hopeful as well.

It’s odd, the fact that she’s not having sex with him.

All right, perhaps not _odd_ exactly, or perhaps one odd thing in an ocean of odd things, and thus probably not what she should be fixating on.

Since that day on the beach, a week ago now, Rose has found excuses not to be alone with him. Staying at her mum’s house, for one, rather than returning to her own closed-up flat in the city, dragging him to Torchwood headquarters to meet everyone, or just avoiding him altogether.

He thinks it’s because she doesn’t believe he’s really the Doctor, she realises that. That isn’t the reason – she _knows_ he’s the Doctor. He’s the same man, they both said so, and the evidence is right there in front of her eyes. He looks the same, he sounds the same (except for a few changes in his vocal patterns that he blames on Donna), he even smells the same. He’s the same as the man who looked her in the eye and said, “Does it need saying?” with his sad, martyr’s face. 

“Yes, it fucking needed saying,” she mutters up to the stars, standing alone on the terrace of her parents’ house with her fourth (fifth?) glass of wine in her hand. “It needed saying when you were fucking me and it needed saying last week, you Fucking. Time Lord. _Prick._ ” She wonders if it would feel good to smash her wine glass on the stones under her feet, but she isn’t really a violent drunk. More of a curling-up-and-weeping drunk, and here come the tears, right on cue. “ _Fuck,_ ” she sobs. She staggers inside, setting her wineglass down in the darkened kitchen and climbing the stairs to her bedroom.

The Doctor is already in his room, down the hall from her own. She wants to go to him and shout, she wants to go to him and cry, she wants to go to him and lie down and spread her legs for him. She never does any of these things. If she could just resolve the mixture of hate and love and longing and fear churning inside her, she’s sure she’d be able to act. 

A large tumbler full of water consumed, and Rose brushes her teeth before crawling under the covers. The tears have dried up prematurely, and she’s sorry – a good cry would have been satisfying. Instead she slides her hand down the front of her knickers. She fucks herself with her fingers, pressing the heel of her hand against her clit and remembering. She couldn’t begin to count how many times she’s touched herself to the soundtrack of those memories. But at some point the memory stops and imagination takes over, thoughts of what it would be like with the man down the hall. His warmer hands on her body and his mouth on her and his cock inside her and that’s when she comes, her face turned into the pillow to muffle any sounds she makes. Sleep takes her soon afterwards.

***

A few days later she wears a tight top, and he stares at her breasts.

It’s the most ordinary thing in the world, a bloke staring at her breasts, and yet it’s the Doctor, and that makes it extraordinary. Because while he may have been having sex with her before the Cybermen and Daleks conspired to ruin her life, he wasn’t the prurient sort. He had _appreciated_ her body, and he had _appreciated_ the way it could make his body feel, but he lacked a certain ... horniness, for lack of a better word. He didn’t stare at her breasts. This Doctor stares in a way that makes her expect to see drool rolling down his chin at any moment.

It is a difference between them, between these two men who have said they are the same. Right now, Rose can’t decide whether to be pleased with this discovery or not. All she knows is that the look in his eyes is making something within her respond.

He disappears after dinner, and Rose finds herself searching for him, looking in rarely-used rooms in the house and finally stalking around the grounds of the estate. It would be just like him to get lost on Pete Tyler’s property.

She finally tracks him down behind a garden shed, sitting on a bench that she didn’t even know was there. He’s looking up at the sky through a thick canopy of trees, and at first he doesn’t acknowledge her presence. “Hiding out here?” she asks him finally.

“Suppose I am, yeah.”

“From me?”

“I think,” he says, sidestepping her question, “there’s an easy way to reduce the air pollution coming from those zeppelins. The noise pollution is another issue entirely.”

Rose sits down next to him on the bench. She can feel the warmth of his leg where it presses against her own, and it makes her feel a little bit dizzy. “Are you afraid of me?” she asks with a harsh sort of laugh, ignoring his attempt at diversion.

“I’m afraid of the way I feel when I’m around you,” he responds, his voice suddenly hoarse.

His eyes are full of emotion, bottomless in the dim light from the moon. “And how is that?” Rose whispers, clenching her hands against their trembling. He doesn’t answer her, he’s just watching her like she’s a wild animal he’s contemplating the effort of taming, and it’s the sudden need to break out of the stalemate that makes her kiss him. 

It isn’t tender; their lips are hard against each other, tongues warring without any gradual build-up. Rose clutches a fistful of his shirt and tie and his hands find their way into her hair. She bites down on his lower lip and he moans. When their lips finally part, they are both breathing hard.

“I didn’t know it would feel ... “ he says, but elects to kiss her again rather than finish his thought. Rose shifts around on the bench while they kiss, moving to straddle the Doctor’s lap. Her skirt is too narrow, chosen for the meeting with the Director of the Home Office she had that morning and not for this. She yanks it up and out of the way, sparing a brief thought for how ridiculous she must look, but then the Doctor utters a brief, gasped _“Yes”_ as she slides forward on his lap.

“Tell me what you want,” she demands, pulling his head back by the hair not quite hard enough to hurt. He opens his mouth to answer, but no sound comes out. He looks almost afraid, and she softens. “Please tell me.”

“I want to make love to you,” he says in a rush.

She doesn’t say yes, she just grinds against his erection, enjoying the way his mouth falls open. Underneath her own desire, there’s still a nugget of anger. She has her still-fresh rage at his duplicate for leaving the two of them behind, but there’s also old bitterness. Because as much as she missed the Doctor in the years that they were separated, she never quite forgave him for being able to put that yellow button around her neck and send her away after everything they had shared. 

“Why?” she demands abruptly, pulling his shirt up from the waistband of his trousers. “Why do you want this?”

He’s passive to her aggression, but she sees something flicker in his eyes. “Because I love you.”

“And you want to make me happy,” she mutters, unclasping his trousers. “It was always about making the poor sex-crazed human happy, so you lowered yourself to fuck me–”

“ _No_. You’re wrong about that.” The hurt she hears in his voice doesn’t cause his arousal to flag, she notices, because beneath his pants, the Doctor is very hard indeed.

“Why do you want this?” she repeats, reaching under the waistband of his pants to stroke him directly. He bucks into her hand, groaning.

“This body, I can’t ...” He bites his lip and moans again, then he’s reaching under her skirt, impatiently shifting her knickers out of the way. His fingers slide inside her and it’s Rose’s turn to cry out. She’s so wet, and even after all this time, the way he touches her is terribly familiar. She moves her hips in rhythm with his fingers, clutching his hair. The Doctor presses his face against her chest and mouths against her clothed breast, teasing the nipple through the fabric. 

After a minute of this, Rose can’t bear it any longer. She climbs off of him, dropping her knickers and leaving them on the ground with her high-heeled shoes. He watches her for a second before lowering his trousers slightly, enough so that when she gets back on his lap, it’s easy for them to align their bodies. Rose sinks onto him, and tears spring to her eyes at the thought that they are finally together again, after so much time and heartache and loss.

“God. Oh, _god_ ,” he says. She doesn’t remember the Doctor talking that way during sex ever, and she looks at him to see that his eyes are very, very wide, like he really has seen some sort of deity. His hips jerk underneath her, almost like he can’t restrain himself. Rose grips the back of the bench and establishes a rhythm, rising and falling on his cock. The Doctor slips a hand between them, touching her clit in an effort to help her along, but her orgasm is a long way off. “Rose,” the Doctor gasps after only a minute or so. “I think I’m ... ahhhh ... I’m close ...” 

“Wait.” Rose stills suddenly, and almost slaps her forehead in frustration at her idiocy. “We can’t ... I’m not on any birth control,” she says. “And you’re part-human, so I assume...”

He’s clenching his jaw, breathing quickly through his nose. “Oh. Right. Sorry.”

She lifts herself free of him. “No, it’s my fault, I wasn’t thinking.” Sitting back on his knees, Rose reaches down and takes his cock, slick and warm from her body, in her hand. She grips him firmly in her fist, stroking from base to tip.

“You don’t have to,” he says, even as his hips are moving in time with her hand.

“Don’t you want me to?”

“Yes. Please, yes,” he grates out. It takes almost no time at all before he comes messily over her fist and his abdomen. She strokes him through his orgasm, watching with a sort of detached curiosity as he gradually relaxes underneath her. With a brief thought of apology toward her dry cleaner, she pulls off her cardigan, wiping her hand and then using it to clean him up.

Once he’s recovered a little, the Doctor reaches for her, kissing her slowly and sweetly. “I need to return the favour,” he mumbles against her mouth, and she feels one of his hands moving up her thigh.

“It’s okay,” she says, standing up and adjusting her skirt. She is bone tired, and feels empty and sad. “It’s chilly out here, and I’d just as soon take a rain check.” 

The Doctor hastily fastens his trousers. “Can I walk you back to the house, then?” For just a moment, she powerfully resents his hurt-puppy expression, his neediness. For just a moment, she wants him to be controlled, the way he used to be. She slips on her shoes and picks up her knickers.

“Yeah, okay.” They walk in silence. Rose keeps her arms crossed, the soiled cardigan and her knickers crumpled up together in one of her hands. He holds the terrace door open for her and Rose slips into the house, anxious to escape the heavy, awkward silence that’s hanging between them. In the light of the kitchen, the fact that she just gave him a handjob in her parents’ garden comes into sharp focus, and she feels a keen need to get some distance. “I’m gonna go take a shower,” she tells him, fleeing up the stairs before she can see the look on his face.

 

***

 

The next night, Rose comes home from Torchwood after dark, just as Tony’s nanny is finishing putting him to bed for the night. Pete and her mum are out for the evening, and the Doctor is nowhere to be found.

After a hot soak in the bathtub, Rose feels more herself. When she goes downstairs in her dressing gown to make a cup of tea, she finds the Doctor in the kitchen, reading an enormous tome, something with very thin pages and very small print. He runs a hand through his hair and her heart skips a beat. 

“Hi.”

He looks up from the book and gives her a half-smile. “Hello.”

The Doctor looks so small, seated at a kitchen table in a house. So diminished. She sits across from him. “I’m sorry about last night,” she says.

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“I haven’t been very nice to you since we got here, and to be honest, I’m not really even sure why.”

He shrugs, and Rose realises she was hoping he would deny her words. “You just need time; your world’s been turned upside down.”

“Yours too.”

“I suppose that’s true.” The Doctor’s eyes meet hers. “I think _I_ know why, if it matters.”

“Why what?”

“Why you, as you say, haven’t been very nice to me.” He clears his throat. “You want me to be the same man, because he’s the man you’re in love with. And at the same time you _don’t_ want me to be the same man, because he’s the man who sent you away. More than once.”

Rose ponders that for a moment. “You might be right about that.” She reaches across the table and takes his hand, and they sit in silence for a while. “So are you? The same man?”

“There’s no simple answer to that question, Rose. But I promise you that I’m not going anywhere. Not without you. Not unless you want to be rid of me.”

“Of course I don’t want to be rid of you.” 

“And Rose, I was _never_ lowering myself to … you _honoured_ me by sharing sexual intimacy with me, and if I ever made you feel like anything less than what you are, I’m sor—”

“You didn’t. I shouldn’t have said that.” She flushes with embarrassment at how cruel she was. “I guess …” she laughs bitterly at the irony. “I guess I wanted you to act more human.”

“Well,” he says in his sing-songy way, gesturing to himself. 

And just like that she realises what an enormous gift his ‘neediness,’ as she so uncharitably thought of it last night, is. He needs her in ways that, as much as the Time Lord might have loved her, he simply never would have. She squeezes his hand. “Let’s go to bed.”

His eyebrows go up. “What?”

Rose stands up, taking both of his hands and pulling him to his feet. “If you can forgive me for behaving so dreadfully, I’d like to take you to upstairs and ... make it up to you,” she says with a flirtatious smirk.

The Doctor blinks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear anything you said after ‘bed’.” 

She gives him an impulsive hug, pulling him close and burying her face against his shoulder. “I love you.”

They make their way upstairs, pausing to kiss or giggle as they go, finally stumbling into Rose’s bedroom and closing the door behind them.

“I bought condoms,” the Doctor says as he crawls over her on the bed. “On the off-chance that–”

“Me too.” Rose laughs. Then he is on top of her, kissing her deeply, one of his legs between hers. Rose can’t help but grind against him, her dressing gown gaping open, caught up as she is in the passion of the moment and finally feeling nothing but simple joy in being with him.

The Doctor rises up onto his knees to take off his clothes. She watches him removing his tie, unbuttoning his shirt, unfastening his trousers, and allows herself to just enjoy the show. The sexy spell he’s weaving is broken a bit when he sits down on his bare bum, trousers round his knees, and struggles with his shoelaces. Rose sits up then, dropping her dressing gown and moving behind him. She presses her breasts against his back, puts her arms around him and rakes her nails through his chest hair. 

“I now completely understand what you meant when you compared sexual desire to hunger,” he says. He’s naked now, and Rose reaches down and takes his erection in her hand, caressing him with the lightest of touches.

“Is that why you’ll never leave me?” she jokes. “Because sex makes you feel this way?”

He doesn’t answer right away, and she thinks it’s because he’s overcome by the pleasure of being touched. But then he finally says, “No, but it’s all part of the package of being human. And sex is part of what binds us together. I don’t think I understood that before.” She has stopped stroking him, listening intently to his words. The Doctor turns and looks at her. “I’m so sorry, Rose.”

“You gave me as much of yourself as you could,” she says, touching his cheek.

“Not enough,” he says hoarsely.

“We’ll make up for it now.”

And they do. They make a start of it, anyway, as he moves over her again and they laugh together as they fumble with a condom, gasp together as their bodies move against one another. When she’s able to open her eyes against the almost unbearable pleasure of it and look at him, she can tell he’s concentrating intensely and wonders if he’s thinking about cricket. She murmurs to him that she’s close, and then they move faster, harder, deeper and they fall together, neither of them able to stay quiet.

Afterwards, they lie facing each other, eyes locked together. His arm is draped over her waist, their legs intertwined under the sheets. “So, different as a human? Or rather, part-human?”

“Oh yes.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out on a long sigh. “And I’m not sure I’m ever letting you out of this bed again.”

“Mmm.” She kisses him. “I’m sure eventually hunger will change my mind, but right now that sounds wonderful.”

“It’s still frightening, though. Feelings this intense?” He pulls her closer, his lips settling against her forehead. “Terrifying.”

“For me too,” she whispers. She falls asleep then, and when she wakes up in the wee hours of the morning he is still there, beside her.


End file.
